1741
by TheFreakZone
Summary: 1741. England, dead set on destroying the Spanish Empire, sends the biggest fleet to the date with the sole purpose of taking the city of Cartagena, the key to all the Spanish colonies. Widely outnumbered, Spain can only trust the wit of a one-armed, one-eyed, one-legged admiral: Blas de Lezo.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: okay... So the original idea was for this to be a one-shot, but I was getting a bit frustrated with the battle and I thought that maybe posting it in separate chapters would give me more perspective (and getting feedback will probably encourage me to keep going) so that's what I did.  
I'll be adding some notes (the numbers between brackets) to explain some things that couldn't be explained in the narration or I simply didn't want to add to the story but that are worth mentioning.  
Disclaimer: I don't own _Hetalia _(if I did, there'd be a whole season dedicated just to this battle)  
Hope you like it! n_n_

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

As much as it hurt to admit it, it couldn't be denied that Spain had the world at his feet. Even after losing control on Portugal and his colonies, even after having had to give up his territories in South Italy and Flanders, even after having suffered the most during his succession war, the Spanish Empire was still standing, tall and proud, with territories in every continent, and it didn't seem to matter how much other nations tried to bring him down.

England really hated the guy.

It was time for him to fall, and he knew where to strike.

Everybody knew that all the gold and silver that were extracted from the American mines were sent to Spain once a year, when an impressive fleet crossed the Atlantic carrying the precious cargo. The ships left from the fortified city of Cartagena, in the _Virreinato_ of New Granada(1), where all that was to be shipped was stocked throughout the whole year. That single city was the key to the whole Spanish Empire: if it fell, it was only a matter of time for the rest of the empire to collapse. Which is why it was heavily fortified, and why England became dead set on conquering it.

"You wanted to see me, Sire?" someone said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He turned and saw a man standing on the door of his cabin, waiting for permission to come in. "Ah, Admiral," he motioned for him to enter. "When do you plan to attack Cartagena? We've spent quite some time attacking many other places. Not that I don't enjoy cannoning Spanish cities, but it's like trying to harm a giant with a toothpick."

"I was about to give the order to head to Cartagena, Sire," Admiral Edward Vernon answered. "These last successful attacks have lifted the men's spirits; they're all ready to fight and win for you."

England smirked. Oh, Spain was about to fall, and he had been waiting for that moment for such a long time… Failure wasn't an option.

"Is Lieutenant Wentworth aware?"

"Aye."

"You enrolled soldiers from the colonies as well, didn't you?"

"Indeed. Almost three thousand." He paused for a moment. "I'll have them attack from land as a distraction while the ships bomb the city."

"They'll be cannon fodder," England understood. He vaguely thought that Alfred wouldn't be too happy about it, but didn't pay much attention to it. "Well then. Set sail to Cartagena — let's crush the Spanish Empire!"

* * *

 **SPAIN**

His horse neighed, impatient, as the city doors were opened for them. Spain patted his neck, soothing, and looked to his right, were Blas de Lezo struggled to maintain balanced on his horse — which isn't easy to do with a wooden leg.

He was a man worthy of admiration. He had lost in battle his left leg, right arm and left eye, and yet he remained in the Armada. _Mediohombre_ , they called him. _Half-man_. Not mockingly, but with admiration: he hadn't lost a single battle he had commanded.

Yes, Spain knew that, if there was one man who should command the defence of Cartagena de Indias, that was Blas de Lezo.

The doors finally opened and they rode inside the city. There were many waiting for them, and Spain was pleased to see New Granada on the first line. He reached him and got off the horse, immediately hugging his colony.

"You've grown up," he noted, smiling at him.

"Not too much. It's just that it's been too long since you last visited."

Spain pouted at the reproach. "I've been busy!" he protested. "I can't visit you all on a regular basis!"

"I know," New Granada laughed. "I was just teasing you. Come, I'll show you to your room."

He ordered his men to escort and give accommodation to the men that had come with Spain and then walked away, the European quickly following him.

"Your room is right next to mine," he informed as they walked through the corridors. "It's one of the most comfortable rooms of the entire fort; and it has some impressive views. Although— you're going to be busy with other things, I'm afraid."

His voice shook slightly at those last words, and Spain didn't miss it. He waited until they walked into his room, though, and they weren't going to be seen or heard by anyone to mention it.

"Are you scared?" he asked, leaving his halberd resting against the wall and dropping his read coat on the bed. When New Granada didn't answer, he walked to him and hugged him. "There's nothing to be afraid of—"

"I _am_ frightened," the colony finally admitted, interrupting him. "How can I not be? They say England has sent the biggest fleet mankind has ever seen, and we are so few! You've brought very few men with you."

Understanding, Spain sat on the bed, forcing New Granada to sit beside him, and let him rest his head on his shoulder. "Don't be scared. I'm here." He pressed a kiss to his hair, rubbed soothing circles on his back. "I'm not going to let him lay a single finger on you."

"But we're so few…" he insisted, weakly.

"Yes, we'll be greatly outnumbered," Spain conceded. "But we have thick walls, and a burning heart and iron will; and we have Blas de Lezo! Don't worry, kid. We'll make it out of this."

None of them fully believed those words.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been fantasizing about the moment in which a wounded and defeated Spain would kneel before him and hand him the keys of Cartagena — the keys to his whole empire. He toyed with the coin in his hand, trying to think of the words he'd say after the victory. Should he humiliate Spain any further? Or should he behave like a gentleman and treat him kindly? Knowing how proud his rival was, he wasn't sure which of those options would bother him the most.

His gaze travelled to the desk, where Admiral Vernon and Lieutenant Wentworth discussed the strategy they were to follow. They didn't seem to agree much, but that wasn't a big problem. Their army was much bigger than the one that awaited them; if not brains, brawns would win the fight. Although…

"Admiral," he called, and the two men instantly stopped talking to one another and payed attention to him. "Do you know the man who's in charge of the defence of Cartagena?"

"Lezo," Vernon replied instantly. "I can't say I've met him personally, but I know for a fact that we've fought against each other in a few battles."(2)

"They say he's never lost one," Wentworth intervened.

"I'd say he's about to," England retorted, smug. "What do you think, Admiral? Will you defeat him?"

"Of course, Sire. It's enough proof the fact that I'm still in one piece and he isn't."

England burst out laughing. "I'll let you keep his wooden leg as a trophy."

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"How did you get all those wounds?" New Granada asked, curious.

"Sergio!" Spain exclaimed. "You shouldn't ask those things," he scolded.

"No, no, it's okay," Lezo intervened. He knew the question would come sooner or later, and now that the three of them were alone on the top of the walls, waiting for the English navy to appear, it seemed like the best moment they'd have to talk about it. "The leg," he started, patting his left, wooden leg, "I lost it when I was fifteen. I was fighting a battle near Gibraltar during the succession war; a cannon ball hit the ship I was in and splintered my leg. I had to have it amputated in the middle of the battle."

"Did it hurt?" the colony asked, eyes open wide.

"I had four men holding me down and an unhealthy amount of rum in me to help me cope with the pain. I ended up fainting." He paused for a moment, shuddering at the memory, before going on. "The doctor said I endured the pain much better than he had expected.

"Then came the eye," he continued, pointing to the left side of his face. "I was eighteen and helped command the defence of a fort called _Santa Catalina_. A cannon hit the wall and a small rock hit me in the eye. I can't see through it, but at least I didn't have to have it removed.

"And the last one to go was the arm." He patted his right arm with the left one. "I was twenty-four when we were attacking Barcelona; a bullet pierced my forearm and paralyzed my elbow and arm. I can still move the hand a little," his fingers twitched as if to prove his words, "but it's not too useful. I can sign documents, and that's the extent of it."

New Granada whistled, amazed, and looked at Lezo with renewed respect. He was about to say something else when Spain straightened by his side, his gaze fixed on the horizon, and said: "They're here."

The three gazes locked on the horizon, where white sails were starting to appear. None of them said a word as more and more ships started to come closer to the city. It was Spain who broke the silence, his voice slightly shaking:

"That's an awful lot of ships."

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

"They have six ships. That's so cute," England snickered, looking through his spyglass to Cartagena. _Really, Spain?_ he thought, unbelieving. _It's like you're begging me to destroy you_. He spotted movement on top of the walls and smirked when he recognized Spain's red coat. "Prepare me a boat, will you," he ordered to the sailors that were by his side. "I think I have a date."

He rushed inside to get his own coat and hat, as well as the coin he had been playing with before. After hesitating for a moment, he took his weapons as well. It wasn't like Spain to attack on a pre-battle chat, but he never knew. Considering the situation he was in, he could try something desperate.

When he got out of his cabin, his boat was already prepared to leave. Vernon was by its side, waiting for him.

"I'm going alone," England said. "Wait until I'm back to start the attack; in the meantime, get ready for battle," he ordered.

"Aye, Sire."

Without any other word, England hopped on the boat and started to row to the shore, where he could already see two figures waiting for him.

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"He's coming," New Granada said, instinctively getting closer to Spain.

"Yes, I've seen him," he replied, his gaze fixed on the boat that moved towards them. "Are you sure you want to be here?"

New Granada nodded without hesitation. "I'm safe with you," he said. "And I want to show him that I'm not afraid of him… even if I am, a little."

They didn't say anything else as they waited for England to reach them. Spain tightened his grip on the halberd when the other got close enough for him to see the smug smirk on his lips. Oh, how he wanted to punch him in the face…

"Do yourself a favour and surrender now," England said as soon as he was close enough.

"Surrender?" Spain laughed. "Come on, Arturo, as if you didn't know me."

"It's Arthur," he glared at him. "And England, to you."

Spain only smiled charmingly at him. He knew how much England hated when he called him by the Spanish version of his name, and thus did it every time he could

"Anyway," England went on, clearly annoyed but trying not to let it show, "are you really that proud and stubborn to let your people die for nothing?" Not giving him time to reply, he straightened and proudly started to expose his superiority. "I have three times more cannons than you have, and I have ten soldiers for every one of yours."

"That's okay," Spain smirked, confident. "A Spaniard is easily worth ten Englishmen."

"You have six ships," England ignored him. "I have one hundred and eighty. That's thirty times more than you."

"That may be a bit of a disadvantage, yes," Spain admitted, his smirk never leaving his face. "Nothing more than a small inconvenience."

England glared at him, clearly not happy with his superiority being labelled as 'a small inconvenience', and finally snapped.

"Do you really think you stand a chance against me?" he yelled. "You're a fool if you think you can win this!" His glare sharpened and his voice became lower, more menacing. "Do you really think that crippled of yours can outshine my Admiral?"

"A man in a shiny armour is a man that hasn't had his metal tested," Spain replied without missing a beat. "Don't you dare to underestimate me."

"I'm not underestimating you," he retorted. "I'm just being realistic. Only a madman would bet on you." He snorted. "The result of this battle is clear even since before starting— why can't you see that?"

"I'm stubborn," he shrugged. "I don't like giving up."

"You should learn to."

Not giving him a chance to reply, England tossed something at him, and Spain barely managed to catch it. It was a coin, and upon a closer look, he was left flabbergasted.

"Is this a commemorative coin?"

"Of my victory in this battle, yes."

"Is that Lezo kneeling before Vernon?" Spain asked, unbelieving, as he studied the coin. "Oh, you got his bad profile; he won't be too happy about that."

"Does he have a good profile?" England grunted, although he was ignored.

"What's this written here? _The Spanish arrogance defeated by Admiral Vernon_?" He let out a snort that wanted to resemble a laugh. "You make commemorative coins of a battle that hasn't been fought yet and _I'm_ the arrogant one?"(3)

"Oh, come on, Spain, don't play innocent. Not with me. Aren't you always reminding everyone that you're the biggest empire in the world?"

"Because I am," he replied, calm. "I am the Empire where the Sun Never Sets, and you're very wrong if you think you'll be the one to end that," he said, pride dripping from every word.

"You're just so fucking proud," England snarled. "I'm going to thoroughly enjoy destroying you—"

"Don't be so sure," New Granada interrupted him, speaking for the first time since England had arrived, and surprising not only him, but Spain as well. "Year after year we've kicked out every single pirate that's tried to steal the riches of this city. Year after year, attack after attack, we've remained standing strong. You're no better than those pirates of yours," he hissed, "and we'll defeat you just like we've defeated them."

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

He looked in disbelief at the kid— no, the _brat_ that had just talked to him like that. By the look on Spain's face, he hadn't expected that outburst either; but while there was pride in the Mediterranean's eyes, England could only feel rage swelling inside him.

"We'll see about that," he simply said, piercing the young colony with a burning gaze before turning around and walking away.

As much as he hated to admit it, they had won that round. He'd make sure they didn't win anything else.

When he got in the ship again, he saw Vernon talking with a man he didn't know.

"Ah, Sire, you're back," the Admiral waved at him, clearly not sensing how annoyed his country was. "This is Lawrence Washington, the captain of the colonists."

"It's an honour, Sir!" Washington exclaimed, saluting.

"He was just telling me about his family," Vernon commented. "His little brother wasn't too happy about him leaving."

"Yes, George," Lawrence laughed. "He kept telling me that one day he'll go to war, too, and that he'll be a hero.(4)

"And I'm sure he will," England said, immediately after changing topic. "Admiral, we attack whenever you order it."

 **To be continued... (eventually)**

* * *

 _ **Notes  
** (1) The Spanish colonies in America were divided in four 'virreinatos', enormous territories governed by a Viceroy. The virreinatos were Nueva España, Nueva Granada, del Perú and del Río de la Plata. Since the Latin-American countries that we know nowadays didn't exist back then, I decided to create a whole new character as the virreinato of New Granada.  
(2) Lezo and Vernon fought against each other in quite a few battles, both as soldiers and commanders, yet never met face to face. For instance, Vernon fought in the battle in which Lezo lost the leg. Lezo always proved to me a magnificent strategist, and tricked Vernon more than once, when they both had climbed through the ranks. Vernon would exclaim one: "I'll be damned_— _it's the same bastard!" It's safe to say poor Edward Vernon was never a fan of Blas de Lezo :P  
_ _(3) Okay, I took a few liberties with the coins. For starters, they didn't say 'arrogance', but 'pride'. However, for the sake of the story (i.e. for the sake of having Spain verbally bitch-slapping England) I decided to change that word. Also, the coins were indeed forged before the battle was won, but not before it was started. Basically, England couldn't have had one at that moment, since they didn't exist yet; but again, for the sake of the story, I took some liberties.  
_ _(4) Yes, Lawrence's little brother is THE George Washington. England was right: he did end up being a hero XD_

* * *

 _And that's it for now! Reviews and any kind of feedback are very much appreciated :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: new chapter! I didn't want to tell everything with much detail, so it might feel a bit rushed; apologies for that. Also, don't expect for future updates to be as quick as this one; not even I can tell how fluently I'll write the following chapters. Anyway, hope you like this chapter was well :)_

* * *

 **SPAIN**

Spain and New Granada followed Lezo as he embarked on the captain ship, _La Galicia_. He clearly wasn't happy. While the country and the colony had been taking to England, he had been discussing the defence of the city with the Viceroy of New Granada, Sebastián de Eslava, and it clearly hadn't gone the way he wanted.

"That stupid Viceroy will be our ruin," he kept grunting.

"What exactly is our plan?" Spain asked.

"Well, I think it's obvious they'll try to cross the path of Bocachica, on the south, and enter the bay," Lezo answered, annoyed. "We must send there as many soldiers as we can!"

"So why aren't we?" New Granada asked, confused (and scared) as he looked at the few units that were embarking with them.

"Because Eslava is a fucking incompetent that wants to defend La Boquilla, on the north, when it's clear that's not from where they'll attack. It's very open; we could very easily repel them there. And Vernon's far from stupid, he won't try that." He took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "Eslava has taken many soldiers from us; it won't be easy to defend Bocachica."

A heavy silence fell on them. It was clear that Lezo was a much better strategist than the Viceroy, but Eslava was definitely much prouder — _egocentric_ , some might say— and wouldn't change his mind. Worst of all, no matter how much he disagreed with him, Lezo had no choice but to accept that the other had the last word; they were soldiers, and Eslava had the highest rank. Not even Spain could boss him around.(1)

They didn't say anything as _La Galicia_ set sail and went straight to Bocachica.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

"It's not easy to reach the city," Vernon said, unfolding a map on the desk. "The first obstacle in our path is Bocachica. It's the only opening to enter the bay, and as such is protected by two forts, San Luis and San José, one on each side. There's a chain that can be extended between the two of them, thus not letting ships cross."

"We have to take the forts, then," England understood.

"Aye. We're going to attack San Luis," Wentworth confirmed. "Washington and I will lead the land troops, attacking from different sides; Admiral Vernon will assist us from the sea with the ships."

Some more details of the attack were talked about before Wentworth and Washington left, leaving England and Vernon alone. Without a word, the former opened a cupboard and took a bottle of rum and two glasses.

"The colonists have no idea that they're going to be basically bait, do they?" he asked as he poured the liquor on the glasses.

"No, of course they don't." Vernon accepted the glass and took a sip. "I don't think Lawrence has even considered it; the man admires me!"

"You're going to lose your biggest fan in this battle, then," England chuckled.

"Well, I'm certain than this victory will surely grant me a wide number of devoted followers," the Admiral laughed. Then, he downed his drink all at once and exclaimed: "Let's go conquer San Luis!"

As it turned out, it was easier said than done.

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"They're too many," Spain groaned as he looked through the spyglass to the fort. "They've completely surrounded San Luis; there's no way we can reach it."

Lezo stormed by his side, barking orders at his crew, and stopped for a moment to say: "Then we'll give them all the support we can from the sea." And the next moment he was gone, demanding for the cannons to get ready.

New Granada barely managed to dodge him —it was surprising how he could move that fast on a ship with a wooden leg— as he ran to Spain's side. He was clearly afraid, although he tried to hide it behind a stern look. He may be fooling the men, but not Spain; Spain, who knew what it was like to be under the care of a powerful empire and depend on him for almost everything.

"It's okay, kid," he said when his colony reached him, not giving him the chance to say anything. "We're going to win," he added, sounding much more certain than what he actually was.

"What if we don't?" New Granada replied, downcast.

Spain smiled fondly at him and hugged him.

"Then we'll drag to Hell with us as many of them as we can."

The cannons started to fire.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

"God damn you, Lezo,"(2) Vernon said through gritted teeth as he saw how another of his ships was pierced by the accurate shots of his enemy's vessels.

They were firing chain-shots at them, and they were proving to be terrifyingly effective. If a regular cannon ball was already destructive, two of them linked by a chain were on a whole other level. They weren't exactly accurate, but little did that matter — they destroyed whatever they found on their path, splintered masts and ripped sails, thus leaving the ships at the mercy of the wind and sea. In the midst of a battle, that was absolutely catastrophic.

Not wanting to risk the well-being of his ships any further, Vernon ended up ordering for them to move away from the fort. The land soldiers should be enough to take it.

Of course, many were not happy with that decision.

The moment he managed to get to the ships, Wentworth stormed into his cabin, furious, demanding for him to give the support he had promised.

"You've more than enough men to take San Luis," Vernon replied.

"Oh, you think so? Go down there, join the battle, and if you survive let's see if you have the same opinion. Those damn Spaniards fight like lions!"

"They're completely locked inside the city; Lezo's ships won't be able to send them anything." He waved his hand nonchalantly. "They'll soon run out of food, if they haven't already."

"Yes, and in the meantime we're being slaughtered!"

"So are they."

Understanding he wasn't going to make him change his mind, Wentworth left, frustrated, making sure to bang the door as hard as he could.(3)

England wasn't happy either, but not exactly for the little active role the ships were playing. Rather, he was getting more and more annoyed because they were _so many_ against _so few_ and yes, they were gaining territory, and yes, the Spaniards were suffering a lot of losses, but it shouldn't be costing them _so much_! It seemed that every meter they advanced was earned with a lot of casualties, with a tremendous effort. Of course, the fact that Vernon had made it clear that he'd rather risk Wentworth's men than his ships wasn't the best remedy for his bad mood.

"We're going to take that bloody fort," he spat, his gaze fixed on the other side of the path, on the ship where he was sure Spain was.

* * *

 **SPAIN**

San Luis was running out of ammunition, and there was nothing the ships could do to help. Spain and New Granada had started to despair, fearing they were going to lose the fort. It didn't help that the English ships started to attack them again, effectively sinking a couple of their own. The only one who didn't seem to be affected by the situation was Lezo, who somehow still had the strength to walk up and down the deck, screaming orders and insulting the Viceroy under his breath.

The fourth of April, San Luis completely ran out of ammunition.

Sensing that victory was near, the English renewed their attacks on the Spanish ships.

"Fuck," Spain cursed, having barely dodged a cannon ball.

 _La Galicia_ 's deck was a complete and utter chaos. The ship had caught fire, and was being bombed mercilessly. Also, given the much more numerous English army, they could always send fresh reinforcements, while the Spanish were forced to keep fighting nonstop.

"Spain!" New Granada called, and ran to him as soon as he saw him. "Spain, look!" he said, on the verge of tears. "Look to San Luis!"

"What is it?" Spain asked, confused. Then he turned, and when the smoke of the cannons allowed it, he spotted a white flag waving on top of the fort. He pursed his lips. "Come on, Sergio," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Let's get out of this ship before it's sunk."

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

Finally, some progress was being made. England smirked when he saw the white flag, wishing he could see Spain's face. His gaze travelled to where the Spanish ships were being forced to retire. The bastards had fought bravely, but ultimately victory was his… and he was going to thoroughly enjoy it.

He disembarked and walked as close as he could get to the Spaniards without risking being shot at. Spain's red coat made it easy for him to spot him. He was leaving the command ship, dragging New Granada and Lezo with him.

 _That's not something we see every day_ , he thought, satisfied. _You're not used to running away, are you, Spain?_

"Sire!" someone called from behind him. "The Spaniards in the fort are going to open the doors!"

"Good," he smiled, starting to walk to the walls of San Luis. Upon closer look, he saw that they were thicker than what he had thought. _No wonder it's taken us this long to take it_ , he mused, annoyed by the fact that what had made the Spaniards surrender hadn't been the attack on them, but the lack of ammunition with which defend themselves. He was suddenly _very_ pissed off, and his hand instinctively started to stroke his cutlass' handle.

He really felt like spilling some Spanish blood.

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"We've lost four ships," Lezo reported. "Three of them have been sunk; one of them has been captured." He looked sadly at his journal, the only thing he had managed to save from _La Galicia_ before Spain (screaming at him something like ' _For fuck's sake, leave this ship already, you're no use to me dead!'_ ) had dragged him on board of _El Dragón_ , one of their two remaining ships. "And San Luis has fallen." He looked at Spain and New Granada, who solemnly watched the fort as they sailed away from it. "Are they taking prisoners?" he asked softly.

Spain shook his head. His usual cheerful expression was nowhere to be found; instead, his lips were pursed, his breath was hard and shaken, his fists were clenched, and there was such rage in his eyes that Lezo considered wise not asking any further.

"New Granada," he called the colony instead, trying to give his voice a soothing tone. When the boy turned to look at him, red-eyed and devastated, Lezo felt guilty for not having been able to do more. "How about you tell me a little more about the next defences? Surely you know them better than me. Let's make sure this doesn't happen again, yes?"

The colony sniffed and then nodded, managing a smile, before going with Lezo to the captain's cabin.

Spain barely payed attention to them as they left. He couldn't move his gaze from the walls of San Luis, where he knew every single of his men was being killed. At least, he consoled himself, the English had suffered a lot of damage.

There was movement on top of the fort, and he looked up just in time to see the Spanish flag being replaced by the English. Even from the distance, he recognized the one making the change. He straightened, knowing that he'd die before showing any hint of defeat, and glared at him. He couldn't see it, but was certain the other was smirking, and God, he _hated_ that smirk. England took off his hat and waved at him, mocking. Without a word, Spain turned and went to where Lezo and New Granada planned how to keep defending the city.

England was very wrong if he thought Spain was going to surrender that easily.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

He used the remains of the Spanish flag to clean his cutlass, his gaze never leaving the two ships that sailed away from San Luis. If only they had been closer so he could've seen the look on Spain's face… He heard footsteps, and turned just as Vernon reached him.

"Admiral," he said, a bit colder than expected after a victory. "It's costed us a lot to take this fort."

"It's true, Sire," Vernon admitted. "But we've crossed the first obstacle; and the Spaniards are surely demoralized. They've lost four ships and almost four hundred soldiers."

"Yes, they have," England admitted. "May I know what _we_ have lost?"

Vernon didn't answer immediately. Instead, he paced around a little, possibly trying to think how to deliver the news. "We're not done counting yet," he finally said, "but we've lost ten ships and have approximately eighteen hundred casualties."

"That can't happen again," England frowned. "We have a lot of soldiers, but that doesn't mean we can go around letting them get killed that easily."

"Aye, Sire, you're absolutely right," he nodded. "It won't happen again." With that, he saluted and left, going straight to his ship. He didn't want to hear Wentworth complaints, or face Washington and check if he had realized that his unit of colonists had been basically cannon fodder. He had been surprised to find out that Lawrence's unit had survived; with many deaths and wounds, yes, but survived. He'd have to congratulate them later; for now, all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep.

Still on top of the walls, England grabbed the Spanish flag and looked at it. it used to be so white and pure(4)… and now it was stained with the blood of the soldiers that had defended that fort. He let it go, watching as the wind carried it away until it landed on the sea, among the remains of the Spanish ships. _So tragic_ , he thought before looking to the horizon, where he could see the city of Cartagena.

If everything went as expected, he'd sleep in it in a few days.

 **To be continued... (eventually)**

* * *

 ** _Notes:_** _  
(1) Viceroy Eslava was indeed a terrible strategist that didn't want to admit that Lezo was a much better option to command the defence of Cartagena. If it weren't for him, maybe the eventual Spanish victory (oops— spoiler alert?) would've been much more crushing. Lezo wouldn't stop complaining about him; clearly, he didn't have a good right hand (pun intended :P).  
(2) "God damn you, Lezo" was practically Vernon's catchphrase throughout the whole war. Expect to see it more than once from now on.  
(3) Wentworth and Vernon had a lot of disagreements that only grew and grew as they lost soldiers to the Spanish. The one wanted for the ships to take more risks; the other wanted for the land soldiers to do most of the work. Had they agreed more, maybe the result of the battle would have been different.  
(4) The Spanish flag back then wasn't like the one we have nowadays (horizontal bands red-yellow-red); that one was created later in that century. In the time of the battle, the Spanish flag was simply white with the coat of arms of the Spanish king in the middle. (It was practically the same as the French flag; the reason why the other one was created was so that French and Spanish ships could be told apart from afar.)_

* * *

 _AN: and that's it for now! Reviews are very much appreciated and almost compulsory n_n_


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: third chapter! It's a bit shorter than the others, but I'll make up for it in the next one: it'll probably be the longest and include a lot of Spain kicking England's ass in quite a few, awesome ways. You may have read it already; I've re-posted it because Fanfiction is behaving funny lately and the notification wasn't sent, I think. If that's your case, sorry if I gave you fake hope of a new chapter :P  
Before starting, some music!_  
 _I was told in a review to the previous chapter that there's a metal song about this battle, which I had no idea of. It's called_ 1741 (The Battle of Cartagena) _and it's by the Scottich band_ Alestorm _. You might want to check it up, although it's practically a generic war song._  
 _Also (I've been forgetting to mention this since chapter one *facepalm*) if there's a song that should be the soundtrack of this battle, that's_ Burning Heart _, by_ Survivor _. Seriously, I dare you to listen to it and tell me it doesn't fit perfectly._  
 _That's all I wanted to say; let's proceed to the chapter! :D_

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"Now that they've crossed Bocachica, they'll sail north," New Granada pointed at the map as he spoke, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "Before reaching Cartagena, they still have to cross this path here, Manzanillo."

"Guarded by two forts, like Bocachica," Lezo noted.

"No chains, though."

"We'll have to arm the forts, then, and bomb the English from there." He made a pause, wanting to ask something but fearing the colony's reaction. "If… If they managed to cross Manzanillo," he started, slowly, and continued when New Granada didn't seem to be too affected by those words, " _if_ they did, what defences would we have?"

"The fort of San Felipe and the walls of Cartagena."

Lezo nodded. He had seen San Felipe when they had first arrived; it was close to the city, to the point where both could be easily attacked at the same time. At least they'd force the English to divide their forces… although little would that do, considering how many they were.

"They'll probably try to invade Cartagena medieval-style," Spain said then, speaking for the first time since he had joined them. He was leant against the wall, his gaze lost somewhere on the floor. When no one replied to him, he looked up to meet two questioning looks. He mentally smacked himself — for a moment, he had forgotten he was the only one who had lived in the Middle Ages. "Scales," he explained. "Given their huge numbers, it's their safest bet. They've never been fond of close combat; they like much better attacking from a safe distance with their cannons. The moment one of our ships gets close to them, they flee— they fear boardings. However, being so much and us so few, I bet they have perfectly measured scales to climb over the walls; if they manage to do so… they'll completely raze the city."

New Granada gulped and looked alternately between Spain and Lezo, hoping to hear _some damn good news_! That didn't mean he actually expected to get them, and was shocked when he heard Lezo quietly laughing under his breath.

" _Perfectly measured_ , you said?" the Admiral chuckled. "I think I have an idea." He sighed when he heard screams from the deck — they had reached Cartagena. "Ah, there goes my good mood."

Spain and New Granada shared a smile and patted Lezo's shoulder as he walked past them. Both being used to incompetent bosses, they understood perfectly why Lezo didn't want to go anywhere near close to the Viceroy.

As expected, the meeting did not go well.

"I was absolutely right about San Luis!" Lezo roared, furious. "And now I'm telling you that this idea of yours is completely _stupid_ and you won't listen!"

Eslava glared at him, clearly bothered by the disrespectful way in which the Admiral talked to him. "I said we're going to sink our two remaining ships on Manzanillo to block the path," he practically hissed, "and that's my last word."

" _It won't work_ ," Lezo insisted, stressing every word. "The water's too deep— they'll still pass and we'll be left ship-less!"

"I said that it's my last word! And it's _an_ _order_."

Lezo didn't reply, but his whole body trembled with rage as he turned and left, fuming, being immediately followed by Spain and New Granada. Even they trusted him more than the Viceroy; why couldn't he see that he was clearly doing everything wrong?

"Are we really sinking the ships?" New Granada asked, worried.

"Of course we are, stupid as it is," Lezo snorted. "You heard him: _it's an order_." He took in a deep breath. "At least I can still give some sensible orders. Say, New Granada, how many shovels are there in the city?"

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

Vernon and Wentworth were still arguing. For how long had they been at it? He didn't know, but it was starting to get on his nerves. The Lieutenant still hadn't forgiven the Admiral for not having supported from the sea as much as he had said he would; the Admiral didn't like the way the Lieutenant replied to his orders. If at first they seldom agreed, now they were constantly at each other's throat, arguing over everything that could be argued about.

 _If I don't get any good news soon_ , England thought, annoyed and with a headache, _I'm tossing someone overboard_.

Surprisingly, his wish was granted.

"Sire!" someone called, irrupting in the cabin. "Sire, you're not going to believe this!"

"They've done what?" England exclaimed after the sailor finished reporting. "They've sunk their ships?" He stopped for a moment, blinked, and then blurted out: "Are they fucking stupid?"

"They are," Vernon confirmed. "The waters of Manzanillo are very deep— there's no way that two sunk ships are going to stop us from crossing it."

"Maybe it's a trap—?" Wentworth suggested.

"Could be," England admitted. "Let's keep our eyes open." He then walked out on deck. Cartagena stood on the horizon, but this time his gaze focused on the forts that guarded Manzanillo. _Do you have something up your sleeve, Spain? Or has the Sun finally driven you mad, after being exposed to it for so long?_

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"Jail him," said Eslava.

"Hang him," said Lezo at the same time.

They glared at each other as the soldier's gaze travelled between them, not sure of which of the two orders he should obey.

"Jail him," Eslava repeated, his glare daring Lezo to defy him again.

For a moment, it seemed the Admiral was about to do exactly that, but instead smiled coldly at the Viceroy and turned to the soldier. "You heard him: jail the Portuguese," he said, it clearly not being what he really wanted to say (which everyone in the room presumed to be a series of insults to Eslava).

Spain stared as the soldier saluted and left. He hadn't been happy to find out that there was a traitor among them, a soldier of the Spanish crown that had been passing info to the English. Then it had turned out to be a Portuguese, which had made it a little more understandable — he wasn't a Spaniard, and Portugal and England had always been close friends and allies. Still, he had felt hurt and betrayed, and fully supported Lezo's opinion on the matter. However, the Viceroy still had the last word and damn, Spain was starting to really despise the man.

"You should hang him," Lezo confronted Eslava as soon as the soldier had left. "The situation is already pretty critic, and if the other soldiers see that traitors are being spared, what do you think could happen?"

"The other soldiers are loyal Spaniards," the Viceroy replied. "They won't betray us."

"No, of course they won't," he said in mock agreement, and left the room before anyone could say anything else.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

"I still can't believe they've done it," England said, looking to the path of Manzanillo.

The Spaniards not only had indeed sunk their own ships, but had also been surprised by the English when they were in the process of sinking the second one and had had to flee, leaving it burning and half-sunk, but in no way blocking the path.

"They're out of ships now," Vernon smirked. "I think we can consider this battle as won, don't you?"

"Indeed," England answered, not bothering to look at him.

"Shall I send a ship home with the good news?"

"The battle's not won yet," Wentworth commented before England could answer.

"You're right, Lieutenant," Vernon replied, "but if we send the ship now, by the time it arrives the battle _will_ be over, and the result is obvious."

Wentworth rolled his eyes, but didn't argue any further. He was probably sick of getting in pointless arguments with the Admiral; arguments that, no matter what, always ended with Vernon doing as he pleased.

"Admiral, send the ship," England finally ordered, finally turning to face them, a wide smirk on his lips. "I feel like celebrating."(1)

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"They've crossed Manzanillo! They'll be before Cartagena in any minute!" New Granada yelled as he entered the room, Spain following him.

Startled, Lezo and Eslava turned to look at him, frowning the former and pale the latter.

"What?!" the Viceroy exclaimed. "H-How?"

"Sinking the ships didn't block the path, as expected," Spain explained. "They've crossed it without firing a single shot, and now the only thing between them and us are a hill and some walls."

He was clearly angry, and perhaps that was what finally made Eslava think from a pragmatic point of view. Swallowing his pride, he turned to the Admiral and said with a slightly shaky voice:

"Lezo, take full command."

Spain and New Granada looked hopefully at him. None of them really believed that the battle could be won at that point, but with Lezo commanding everything, at least they'd give the English something to remember. But the Admiral, leant over the table and studying some maps, barely looked at them when he let out a calm, firm and convinced:

"No."

Eslava's eyes widened, unable to believe what he had just heard; and Spain and New Granada shared an unbelieving look.

"What did you say?" the Viceroy managed to stutter.

"I said 'no'," Lezo answered, calmly, before straightening and looking at him with a fierce glare. "I won't accept until you admit that I was right all along and that the more-than-likely defeat is all your responsibility."(2)

The three of them looked at him, agape, but soon New Granada and Spain fixed their gazes on the Viceroy, waiting for his reply. As an overly proud man himself, Spain couldn't help but feel slightly bad for Eslava when, downcast, he muttered a quiet admission.

"Very well, then!" Lezo exclaimed, suddenly energetic. "First things first—" He opened the door and called the closest soldier he spotted. "Hey! Hang the Portuguese!" Then he went back in and started to pace around. "I have an idea. It's a desperate plan that'll most certainly won't work, but it's worth a try because, let's face it," he laughed a bit hysterically, "it's not like we have many alternatives."

"What is it?" Spain asked, feeling more motivated than before.

"Well— I'm going to need two volunteers."

* * *

 ** _Notes:  
_** _(1) Remember the coins from the first chapter? It was upon the arrival of this ship in England when they were made. There were also a lot of celebrations with fireworks and everything. Talking about karma...  
_ _(2) The Viceroy already disliked Lezo, but that final humilliation made him straight up loathe him. I'm not going to add anything else to avoid spoiling future chapters, but make sure to remember this episode._

* * *

 _And that's it for now! I very much appreciate your reviews n_n_

 _PS. I hadn't mentioned it before because I thought it was obvious, but the cover pic is a portrait of Lezo, which is currently in Madrid's Naval Museum._


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: chapter four! It's by far my favourite ;)  
Before reading it, make sure that you've read chapter three. I posted it two days ago, but Fanfiction is on a rebel phase and didn't send the email notifications, I think. I re-posted it like five times and it didn't help =_= Heck, I don't even know if you'll be notified of this update. (If you aren't, I swear I'll go one by one and maually notify you.)  
Now, allow me to reply to a guest review that said Spain was OOC because of the way he treats New Granada:  
Yes, the Hetalia canon states that Spain was stern towards his colonies (except Romano), but history states that Spain was the colonizer that best treated them. And, honestly, if I had to choose between Hetalia-canon and actual history, I'll stick to history; particularly if it's a historic fanfic. I'm glad we had this conversation n_n_

 _Let's proceed to the chapter, hope you like it as much as I do! :D_

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

" _This is what happens to those who betray the king_ ," England read out loud the banner the Spaniards had displayed next to the hanged Portuguese on the walls of Cartagena. "Poor bastard," he sighed, lowering his spyglass.

"He knew the risks he was taking," Vernon shrugged, nonchalant. "And we're going to avenge him soon anyway."

"True. What's the plan?"

"We'll attack from the front, straight and simple; reach the city, use the scales, and take it. They may fight like devils, but only because there are thick walls between them and us. Remove the walls and they'll be nothing."

 _You clearly haven't lived the 16_ _th_ _and 17_ _th_ _centuries_ , England thought. _You should consider yourself lucky for not having faced the Spanish_ tercios(1) _. An empire as big as Spain's doesn't stand for so long thanks to smiles and hugs_.

"Have you told Wentworth?" he asked instead. "He's not very happy with you."

"He'll forget everything once we take the city," Vernon waved his hand, clearly not bothered by the very likely rage of the Lieutenant.

"Very well, then. Start the attack whenever you deem it appropriate."

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"How are the trenches going?" Lezo asked as they walked down the corridor, the sound of his wooden leg against the stone floor echoing on the walls.

"We're digging fairly fast," Spain answered. "The civilians are helping; even the women that refused to be evacuated are lending a hand!"

Lezo made a face. His wife was one of the women that had chosen to stay, despite him practically begging for her to leave. Josefina surely had a lot of faith in him, maybe more than Lezo himself.

He shook his head, trying to focus on what was important.

"How's New Granada?" he asked, genuinely worried for the young colony. The siege was putting a lot of pressure on him: he barely slept or ate, and while he tried to put on a brave mask, they could clearly see the worry and despair beneath it.

"He's better," Spain answered. "I think he's glad you're finally in command; he's happier, not as desperate as he was before."

"I'm glad to hear that. Both of you being in a more or less good mood helps lift the men's spirits."

They reached their destination then, a small room in which New Granada waited for them with two men.

"Your two volunteers," he said, pointing at them.

"Thank you very much," Lezo answered, slightly bowing his head. He then turned to the men and said: "I'm not going to sugar-coat this: you're about to go on an almost suicide mission that'll probably won't work and will most likely claim your lives. Are you still on board?"

The two men shared a brief glance, and then one of them said:

"Sacrifices must be made at war, sir."

Lezo smiled.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

"Why are we advancing _so slow_?" he grunted. It was like San Luis all over again: they were more, they had more and better weapons, yet they barely managed to advance without a great number of casualties.

"That damn Lezo," Vernon hissed by his side. "He's dug trenches on zig-zag; our soldiers are being fired at from two fronts and have a hard time defending themselves."

To make things worse, many of their soldiers were starting to fall sick. The unhealthy conditions of the ships had led to an outbreak of the plague. England was certain that the Spaniards inside Cartagena were suffering from it as well, but they could fight it better. Them, being as they were, stocked in overcrowded ships, could barely prevent infections.

"We have to take the city as soon as possible," he said.

"I know. The moment we manage to reach the walls, it'll all be over."

"Are the scales ready?"

"They are."

They heard then voices calling them, and turned just as some of their men embarked, dragging two Spaniards with them. England eyed them, suspicious, and asked:

"Prisoners?"

"Deserters, sir."

He raised an eyebrow and walked closer to the Spaniards, who shifted from one foot to the other, understandably nervous before his presence.

"Deserters, you say? Is that so?"

"It is," one of the Spaniards answered before any of the English could. "Sir."

"Why would you betray your country and king?" Vernon asked them. "Particularly after _that_ ," he added, pointing to where the corpse of the Portuguese rotted under the sun.

"The result would be the same if we stayed in there," said the other. "Those idiots don't realize that the battle is lost; it was lost before it started!" He paused for a moment and looked at his companion before adding, low: "We just want to go home."

"We— We're willing to guide you to the easiest spot to raid the city from. If you attack from there, the battle will finally over."

"The only thing we ask in return is that you take us back to Spain."

"That's all we want. Sir."

England looked alternately from one to the other, frowning. By his side, Vernon did the same, only that his gaze also jumped to his country from time to time. Finally, England ordered for them to wait there and dragged Vernon to his cabin, considering that they'd better discuss it in private. "Tell Wentworth to come as well!" he ordered before closing the door. "If he's still alive," he muttered.

* * *

 **SPAIN**

Spain let himself fall on the bed with a groan. He was exhausted. If it weren't because Lezo had ordered him to (and then practically dragged him to his room), he would still be out there fighting, and not resting. However, the moment his body touched the soft mattress, he realized how much his body was screaming for some rest. He didn't even bother to take off some clothes.

He was about to fall asleep when a knock on the door interrupted his peaceful rest.

"Yes?" he groaned, annoyed for having been disturbed. However, his annoyance was quickly replaced with worry when New Granada opened the door and stepped in.

His colony was pale and shaking and looked positively sick.

"What is it?" he asked, standing up and rushing to his side. "God, you look awful." He brushed his cheeks with his thumbs, getting rid of the dirt (and a few tears) and adorned them. "Come on, kid, there's nothing to worry about," he lied. "We're going to win," he promised before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"No we're not," New Granada mumbled, his voice quiet and broken.

Spain sighed and looked at him, understanding. "Come here," he said, taking his hand and dragging him to the bed, where they sat together. "I don't know how this is going to end," he confessed. "No one does. What I do know is that I'm going to keep fighting until the end. What I'm certain of is that Lezo won't give up on us, and I don't plan on giving up on him." He lifted New Granada's chin and forced him to look him in the eye. "I can't promise that we'll win, but I can promise that we won't give up hope until the very end."

New Granada bit his lip and looked away, unsure. Knowing he needed comfort, Spain hugged him and placed a soft kiss on his hair.

"You should rest. Get some sleep, yes?" When the colony nodded but didn't move, Spain smiled kindly at him and added: "You can stay, if you want."

"Okay," he said, managing a small smile.

Without another word, Spain laid down, still hugging New Granada, and they were deeply asleep in a matter of seconds.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

"It's a trap," said Wentworth.

"The last time you suggested a trap, it wasn't," Vernon pointed out, referring to the sunken ships in Manzanillo.

"This time I'm sure it is," the Lieutenant insisted.

"I don't think so. Their story is more than believable, and it's more than obvious that the Spaniards are falling into despair."

"The hanging of the Portuguese was a warning. Nobody would try to desert after that."

"Why not? They said so themselves, the result would be the same. And precisely, they wouldn't try such a childish and stupid trap on us, not after having hanged the Portuguese."

Wentworth didn't insist. He had already given up on trying to convince the proud Admiral of anything. Instead, he turned to England, who hadn't said anything yet.

"What do you think, Sire?"

"I think," he answered, smirking, "that we're taking Cartagena tonight."

The Spaniards thanked them effusively when they were notified of their decision. One of them started to talk about his wife and his kids, whom he missed deeply; the other almost started to cry.

"Where's that spot you were talking about?"

"East side of the city, sir. It'll be easier if we guide you; we know the way."

* * *

 **SPAIN**

The moment Lezo closed the door behind him, he found himself being hugged tightly. He smiled and returned the hug as well as he could with just one arm.

"I'm so glad you're alive," Josefina sighed, pulling away so she could take a better look at him. "Are you alright? Have you been hurt?"

"I'm fine," he assured her, smiling kindly. "I don't know for how long we'll be able to resist in here, though." His gaze turned sadder when he reached up to caress her cheek. "You should've left while you still could."

"I told you I wasn't going to leave you alone," she replied, stern. "And thank God I haven't— look at you! Go to sleep right now!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said mockingly, rolling his eye, but complied nonetheless.

"Laugh all you want, Blas, but this is the hard truth: you may be an Admiral of our king's navy, but I am the biggest authority at home."

"And I'm glad you are," he yawned, laying down. "I still think you should've left. It's not safe here."

"Which is precisely why I decided to stay," she retorted. "How can I leave you somewhere that's not safe?"

He didn't reply, having already fallen asleep. Josefina sighed and knelt beside the bed. "Sleep tight," she whispered before pressing a loving kiss to his forehead.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

The English soldiers walked quietly, protected by the darkness of the night, as they followed the two Spaniards that guided them to victory. They could barely see where they stepped, since the trees covered all the light the moon and stars sent, but they trusted whomever was walking in front of them.

"We're almost there," one of the Spaniards whispered loud enough for those who were close to hear.

"Are you ready?" the other asked a bit louder.

An English soldier tripped on a fallen branch and fell against a tree. He cursed under his breath and looked down to spot the branch and kick it in frustration; and when he looked back up, he met an unknown face.

He didn't even have time to scream.

The heavy _thud_ of a body falling to the ground alerted those who were closer. They turned fast to see what had happened, and what they saw froze the blood in their bodies: a partner bleeding out on the floor with a deep cut in his neck, and a tall, broad man, tanned, with messy dark hair and bright green eyes, who looked at them with the most feral grin they'd ever seen.

" _Hola_ ," he simply said.

Some of them had time to think that the stories England had told them during the journey to Cartagena about Spain's ferocity didn't do justice to reality before the rest of the Spaniards fell on them.

Far from there, on the deck of their ship, England and Vernon chatted when, suddenly, the country went pale and lost his balance. His green eyes opened wide and he started to open and close his mouth, as if he wanted to speak but didn't know what to say.

"What happened?!" Wentworth, who had seen it from afar, rushed to their side, worried. "What is it?!"

Still in shock, England pointed to the east side of Cartagena, and finally managed to stutter a word:

"Ambush."

"What?" Vernon and Wentworth exclaimed at the same time.

"It's a bloody massacre," England managed to whisper.

Vernon swallowed. "That means that the Spaniards have sent a lot of men there," he tried to reason. "So the other two attacks we've sent will manage to break their lines."

"They'd better do," England grunted before rushing to his cabin, urgently needing to lay down.

Vernon looked to the east side of the city, where his soldiers were being massacred… Where they had been led to by two Spaniards. He heard Wentworth moving closer to him and he pursed his lips.

"If you say _I told you so_ ," he snarled, not even bothering to look at him, "I'll shoot you in the face."

* * *

 **SPAIN**

He cleaned his cutlass on one of the dead Englishmen's shirt. He hadn't brought his halberd, since it couldn't be used to its full potential because of the trees, nor his red coat, since it could've been spotted easier than the dark clothes he was wearing instead; and still they had recognized him. They had tried to run away, not expecting the hoard of Spaniards that awaited them.

Spain smiled, satisfied. He would consider this payback for San Luis.

He only wished he could have seen England's face.

He heard his men laughing and congratulating each other for the success, especially the two 'deserters', who had surprisingly survived. And to think that nobody expected for the plan to actually work…

"Let's go back to the city!" he ordered once his cutlass was clean. "It still needs to be defended!"

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

" _What do you mean the scales are too short_?!" Vernon yelled, hysteric.

"Exactly that, sir," Washington said between pants. "We reached the walls, placed the scales, and they were almost two meters shorter!"

"B-But they were perfectly measured! They can't have made the walls taller!"

Washington shrugged. "I don't know how, but they have," he stated. "I swear the scales didn't reach the edge."

"Admiral," England called him, suddenly intervening. He was looking at Cartagena with his jaw rigid and his fists clenched.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Do you, by any chance, recall that city having a pit around it?"

"A pit?" he asked, surprised. "Certainly not, Sire, I—" He stopped abruptly, realizing what England meant. " _Oh_." Impulsively, he kicked the ship's mast, furious. "God damn you, Lezo!"

* * *

 **SPAIN**

"Three simultaneous attacks; all three of them effectively repelled," Lezo smiled, proud of himself, as he received reports.

The ambush had been a triumph: the English hadn't expected it and had fallen completely into the trap. (He still couldn't believe it.)

The pit, dug by soldiers and civilians alike, had been another success: a two-meters deep pit around the walls made them two meters taller, thus disabling the _perfectly measured_ scales.(2)

And firing at the enemies as they tried to run up the hill had been as effective as always.

However, these three victories were more moral than anything else; they were still sieged and running out of both food and ammunition. _But the plague is still affecting them_ , he thought, hopeful. _With a little bit of luck, it'll end up incapacitating them_.

 _Maybe what we need is to buy some time…_

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

"That's it," Vernon said through gritted teeth. "We're launching an attack, forward. We're going to reach the doors, knock them down, and raze that bloody city."

England had decided that he was going to be with the soldiers this time, just because he wanted to be the first one to set foot on Cartagena. Because they were going to take it. He refused to consider any other option.

And so, early on April 20th, 1741, the English army started to move towards Cartagena. The zig-zag trenches were still operative and were giving them a tough time, but they had more cannons on their side, which they had disembarked from the ships.

Yet the Spanish cannons in Cartagena somehow had more range than theirs, which made them much more deadly.

"They've put them on mobile ramps," Wentworth finally understood. "They can move them, thus they've extended their shooting range."

He could've predicted Vernon's next words:

" _God damn you, Lezo_!"

What neither he nor any other Englishman could've predicted was that, at noon, the church bells inside the city started to chime and the Spaniards stopped firing at them.

"What the—?" England muttered, confused. "Cease fire!" he ordered, trying to understand what was going on.

He could see the Spaniards on top of the walls, standing solemnly. _Are they going to surrender—?_ he thought, not understanding anything that was going on. But then he saw Lezo himself carrying a Bible and reading loud and clear a passage, and his jaw dropped. Were— Were they really having _mass_ in the middle of a _battle_?!

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he mumbled, unbelieving. He spotted Spain among the Spaniards on the wall, his red coat standing out, and despite the distance, he knew the other had seen him too. He made a gesture that wanted to more or less represent his thoughts, which were _What the actual fuck?!_ ; Spain's only reply was to shrug.

The service wasn't long. Once it was over, Spain turned to the English soldiers and yelled: "Sorry for the interruption! You can continue shooting at us!" before disappearing once again behind the walls.

Without losing a second, England gave the orders to keep advancing. And then he understood the purpose behind the mass.

"It's too hot, sir," a captain informed, panting. "We can barely walk two steps without passing out."

Even from the walls of Cartagena they could hear an enraged England as he screamed "I can't believe we fell for it!" over and over again.

* * *

 **SPAIN**

If all the remaining Spanish soldiers agreed in one thing, it was that tricking the English —with the ambush, the pit and the mass— had been the most fun they had had in years. Sadly, that didn't change the fact that they were still locked in Cartagena with little food, they were still widely outnumbered, and the English were now very pissed off.

Those Spaniards who weren't firing the cannons or defending the trenches has gathered behind the doors of Cartagena. Instead of the joyful atmosphere they usually created, this time it was silent, save for the occasional prayers and ' _it's been an honour fighting with you_ 's.

Sat on a bench, apart from everyone else, Spain held New Granada close as the boy trembled, scared. He kept trying to calm him down, whispering soothing, encouraging words.

It's not over yet.

There are many men here still willing to fight and die for us.

As long as they're breathing — as long as _I'm_ breathing — the battle's still going.

England hasn't won. Not yet.

The colony seemed to calm down a little, although he remained close to Spain, probably feeling safe in his embrace.

His despair was understandable. If Cartagena fell, Spain would survive — weakened, wounded and humiliated, yes, but even if his whole Empire fell, he'd most likely remain alive as a small European country. New Granada, though? The boy didn't stand a chance.

If Cartagena fell, New Granada wouldn't live much longer.

"It's okay, Sergio, I'm here," Spain whispered against his hair. "England will have to go over me to get to you."

They could hear the screams of the Englishmen outside the city; the sound of the cannons on top of the walls.

"It's okay, kid. I'm here."

He then heard the unmistakable sound of a wooden leg hitting the ground and looked up just as Lezo reached them.

"We're going out to meet them," he said.

"What?" New Granada and Spain replied at the same time, shocked, looking at him in awe.

"We're running out of cannonballs," he explained. "Once we do, the English will run up the hill without resistance, break down the doors and take the city."

"So you suggest a desperate, suicidal attack."

"The last desperate, suicidal plan I made was a huge success," Lezo retorted, referring to the ambush. "The best defence is a good attack; and they fear boardings, close combat, you said so yourself! They won't expect it. if we stay here, we'll be massacred and lose the city."

New Granada shuddered at those words. Spain felt it and hugged him tighter, sighing.

"Okay," he agreed. "We're going out."

Lezo smiled kindly. He then gave a quick look around and said: "Give a speech." When Spain frowned, he elaborated. "Give an uplifting speech. Raise the men's spirits; make them believe in victory. They're scared," he lowered his voice, moving closer to him. "They know the English won't be taking prisoners; they've almost completely given up hope. Return it to them."

Spain took a deep breath and then nodded. He let go of New Granada, who smiled weakly at him, and stood up, picked up his halberd, fixed his coat.

The Englishmen kept screaming and the cannons kept firing, but when Spain stood up on a protrusion of the wall, he knew everyone's attention was on him.

And he suddenly knew exactly what to say.

"Over a century and a half ago," he started, loud and clear, "our king Philip II built an enormous armada to conquer England. You may have heard of it; the English like to call it 'The Invincible', and they love to remind us that it failed.

"What they don't want to remember is that it wasn't them who defeated it, but a thunderstorm, and that almost two thirds of the ships returned safely to Lisbon.(3)

"And do you know what else they don't want to remember? That the following year it was England who built a huge armada, and that he was defeated by the peoples of Galicia, led by one brave woman."(4)

He had unconsciously raised his voice, he was almost screaming now, but he didn't care, because the men were looking at him, were _listening_ to him, and he could see that fierce spark in their eyes awakening.

"And do you know what they _won't_ want to remember? How three-thousand Spaniards with six ships defended a city from thirty-thousand Englishmen with one hundred and eighty ships; how they lost a battle that everyone thought they'd win. Because when the last cannonball is fired, we're going to go out there and fight them without mercy, for they won't be having any mercy for us; and we're going to teach them one thing."

He paused to take a deep breath, unwillingly giving his speech a dramatic effect, and then he simply added:

"We don't need a storm to protect what's ours."

The effect was immediate: everyone started to cheer, and scream, and bang their weapons together. Spain smiled, happy to see he had managed to do what Lezo had asked of him —heck, he had convinced even himself!—, and stepped down, going back to the colony and the Admiral.

The moment he reached them, New Granada launched himself over him and hugged him tightly.

"We're going to win," he said, confident, and Spain was pleased to see he had gone back to his old self. "We're so going to kick England's ass."

"That was an impressive speech," Lezo congratulated him. "I'd clap if I could."

Spain burst out laughing.

And then the cannons stopped firing.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

The Spanish bastards had finally run out of ammunition for their cannons, England noted, smirking. _Finally_. He scanned the walls, trying to spot the white flag he was certain the others would raise any time soon. However, it didn't appear, and he frowned. _Come on, Spain, you either surrender now or wait in agony in there for a little longer. Ah, but you're too proud to accept you've lost, aren't you?_

 _Why can't you see it?_

 _It's over_.

Then he heard a wild roar, followed by ferocious screams, and he froze when he saw the doors of Cartagena opening and the remaining Spanish soldiers running down the hill, wielding their bayonets and launching themselves over the English. The bright red of Spain's coat caught his eye, and he looked in disbelief as his enemy swirled his halberd and slaughtered every unfortunate Englishman that happened to be in his path.

That wasn't right.

He was the one attacking, not Spain.

The ones that had to scream in terror were the Spaniards, not the English.

The English were supposed to take the city while the Spaniards begged for mercy, not run away from— Wait.

Run away.

They were running away.

Flabbergasted, he looked around as reality sank in: his soldiers were running away, chaotically escaping to the ships. He barely had time to wonder what had been the problem —Vernon or Lezo?— before Spain appeared right in front of him, wearing that feral grin he had learnt to fear. His face was blood-freckled, the edge of his halberd was dripping crimson, and there was a fire in his eyes brighter than the Sun than didn't set on his Empire.

For the first time since the campaign had started, England was scared. More than that, he was terrified — and with good reason.

" _Hola, Arturo_ ," Spain said, his voice deep and coarse and terrifying.

England yelped and ducked clumsily, barely managing to dodge Spain's halberd.

Then, panic took over.

He turned and started to run alongside his soldiers, only wanting to reach the relative safety of the ships.

* * *

 _ **Notes:  
** (1) The _tercios _were the Spanish Empire's most feared troops. They were the best military of the 16th and 17th centuries.  
(2) Not really a note; I just wanted to say that the scales is probably my favourite part of this battle. Just imagine the Englishmen's faces when they didn't reach the edge of the wall. Just imagine...  
(3) Just as Spain says, the Great Armada wasn't defeated by the English, but by bad weather and, let's face it, bad commanders. After its """defeat""", the Brits, because they're so funny, started to mockingly call it "the Invincible Armada", and to this day that's the name that people (even Spaniards) know it by.  
(4) Often called "the English Invincible", it failed even harder than the Spanish. The defeat suffered in this attempt to destroy what was left of the Spanish fleet was what threw Sir Francis Drake into shame. The 'brave woman' Spain talks about is María Pita. What did she do? When the English attacked Galicia, the population was scared and running away; but she took a brick, threw it at an Englishman, hit him on the head, killed him, and then yelled "Those who have balls, follow me" and they kicked the English out. But of course, the only "Invincible" people remember is the Spanish *rolls eyes*_

* * *

 _AN: I like to call that last offensive "_ 300 _meets the battle of Helm's Deep" :P It's not over! There are still... two... maybe three chapters left. I can't tell for sure. I can't promise that I'll update as early because, heh, I have exams to study for and I've been procrastinating long enough ^^"  
Anyway, reviews are very much appreciated! You're allowed to praise Lezo as much as you want~_


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: chapter five! I'm sorry it's taken me such a long time to post it, in comparison with the others. Speaking of, make sure you've read Chapters Three and Four. I posted them when Fanfiction was having a mid-life crisis and wasn't sending update notifications. I warned many of you via PM, but you never know.  
Anyway, hope you like it!_

* * *

 **SPAIN**

Exhausted, Lezo leant against the wall as he watched with deep satisfaction the chaotic escape of the English troops.

Not wanting to remain inside, he had followed the Spanish soldiers, pistol in hand, yelling orders and encouraging words. He had remained close to the doors, though, considering it wouldn't be sensible to run downhill with a wooden leg.

He heard his name being called, and seconds later he spotted New Granada and Spain, who ran to his side, both of them smiling widely. He waved and waited for them to reach him.

"We totally kicked their asses!" New Granada laughed cheerfully. "We did it!" Unable to remain still, he ran to the wall, _high-fived_ it, and then ran back to Spain, launched over him and hugged him tightly. "We won," he breathed out, tired and unbelieving.

"That's right, we did," Spain chuckled, stroking his hair. "See? I told you we'd make it!"

Still laughing, New Granada pulled away from Spain and ran to Lezo instead. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he cried out as he hugged him.

Taken by surprise, Lezo flinched, but immediately smiled and patted the colony's head.

"I was just doing my job," he laughed lightly. When New Granada finally pulled apart, he sighed and leant against the wall. "Do you know what'd be really cool?" he said after a moment. "A placard."

"A placard?" Spain asked, amused.

"A placard. Like, right here," he pointed to the wall behind him.

"And what would it say?" New Granada asked between giggles.

"I don't know. Something like, _Before this walls, England and his colonies were humiliated_. How's that sound?"(1)

Spain burst out laughing and ran to Lezo's side. "Oh, Half-man, you're worth one man and a half!" Without warning, he hugged him tightly and lifted him up, ignoring his protests.

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

His breath was still quick and shaken, even after having embarked a while ago, and he wasn't sure whether his shock and terror were his people's or his own.

It didn't make any sense. He had more cannons, more soldiers, more ships — it should have been an easy victory!

England took a deep breath and looked around. It was pandemonium on deck, and the only two people too shocked to move or scream were Vernon and himself. In fact, the Admiral barely reacted when Wentworth embarked and, furious, yelled at him: "You only have yourself to blame for this!" The Lieutenant then walked to his side and addressed him more politely, though the anger never left his voice. "Any orders, Sire?"

"I— Yes," England managed to say. He licked his dried lips and breathed deeply. "Let's put some order and try to count our losses and casualties. We'll decide our next action according to that info."

Wentworth saluted and immediately started to give orders. Briefly, England wondered if the result would have been different, had the Lieutenant been the one in command.

It took them many hours to finally calm the chaos and get an idea of everything that had been lost. Locked in England's cabin, they discussed what to do next.

It wasn't an easy decision.

"It's not just the Spanish," Wentworth sighed, rubbing his forehead. "The plague has taken its toll on us— my soldiers are either dead or wounded or sick."

"It's the same for us," Vernon added. "We throw bodies overboard every day; everyone is terrified of falling ill."

"One last attack would be desperate, wouldn't it?" England mused.

"Theirs was one desperate attack and it worked pretty well," the Lieutenant laughed humourlessly.

"It'd be suicidal for us to try to attack again," the Admiral admitted. "The Spaniards have captured all the cannons we had disembarked, and are now very strong on land. There's no way our ships can get close enough to drop the soldiers."

"Are you certain?" England insisted. He refused to give up, no matter how the tables had turned.

"I am," Vernon confirmed. "And I can prove it… while at the same time sending Lezo a farewell gift," he muttered.

* * *

 **SPAIN**

It was all cheers and joy inside Cartagena. The citizens barely believed what they had witnessed from the walls; they couldn't stop talking to one another about it and pinching themselves to make sure they weren't dreaming.

Yet it was true.

When the soldiers walked in, emanating happiness (their own) and covered in blood (not their own), they practically created a victory parade like the ones of old. And when they saw Blas de Lezo among them, they cheered even louder and cried out: " _Mediohombre_! _Mediohombre_!" He smiled at them and waved, tired and worn out yet joyful and proud.

There was one who didn't join the celebration, though. While glad the city (and, by extension, his own life) had been saved, Viceroy Eslava wasn't exactly happy. The humiliation suffered, courtesy of Lezo, still stung his damaged pride. Oh, but he was going to make him pay for his dare. For sure. His hand didn't shake in the slightest as he wrote the letter.

The celebration didn't last long. They had managed to turn the tables to their favour, yes, but the enemy was still on their door. Soon, Lezo was giving orders again (much to his wife's annoyance), and his soldiers followed them blindly. They had learnt to trust him.

"Is all this really necessary?" New Granada asked him after a while, as they walked together, supervising. "We've won, haven't we?"

"If they're smart, they'll leave," Lezo answered. "We're now much stronger, and to the casualties they've suffered from our hands, you have to add those caused by the plague, which I'm sure is affecting them.

"However, they're stubborn," he sighed. "If we guard down, they may try another attack. I will not dare say we've won until they leave for good."

Right then, as if to prove his words, a soldier called for him from top of the walls.

"Admiral! There's a British ship approaching!"

Lezo and New Granada didn't miss a second and rushed to where the soldier was. Spain was already there, staring at the ship with a bored expression.

"And I'm the one who doesn't know when to give up…" he sighed. "Can't they see we're going to blow that ship to pieces?"

"Oh, they know it," Lezo replied. "They are very well aware. This is a test; they want to prove they won't be able to break our defences."

New Granada frowned, confused, as his gaze travelled from the Admiral to the ship. "They're asking us to sink their own ship?"

"That's the thing— it's not their own ship," Lezo said, a sad smile on his face. "That's _La Galicia_."

"Son of a bitch," Spain muttered. He then patted Lezo's shoulder as a sign of support. He was about to give the order to sink what had been his command ship, after all. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," the Admiral said, his expression suddenly turning determined. "It was a nice ship, but I'd rather see her on the bottom of the sea than in the hands of the English." With that, he turned to the closest cannon, and his voice barely shook when he gave the order: "Open fire!"

* * *

 **ENGLAND**

From the deck of their ship, the three of them watched from a safe distance how the Spanish ship endured the merciless fire. It was holding on much better than they had expected, but it still proved Vernon's words: trying to get close to the city would be a straight suicide.

England clenched his fists, his jaw rigid and his gaze cold as he began to admit his defeat. It just didn't make any sense. Logic said he should've won.

So why hadn't he?

"These Spaniards sure do know how to make ships," Vernon muttered by his side, impressed by _La Galicia_ 's endurance.

"Yes, but they don't know how to make men," Wentworth replied. (2)

England sighed. "Wait until they've sunk that damn ship. Then, order retreat," he commanded. "I'm going to lay down for a while."

He started to retreat to his cabin, but when he was in the middle of the deck, he felt a shiver running down his spine. He turned to Cartagena, slowly, and even through the smoke, he felt the cold glare of two bright green eyes on him. Shaking (of fear or rage, he wasn't sure), he tried to ignore it as he made a beeline to his cabin.

He only allowed himself to break down when the door was closed and locked.

* * *

 **SPAIN**

It had taken the English an entire week to withdraw, but they had finally left Cartagena. On May 20th, the last enemy ships had disappeared on the horizon.

"They've gone! They've left! We kicked them out!" New Granada chanted and laughed cheerfully. Spain watched him with a soft smile as he ran and jumped around the room, unable to remain still. "We have to celebrate this! Let's throw a party! We'll have fireworks!"

"Don't get too excited, you," Spain laughed, catching him by the waist. "We don't even have fireworks," he pointed out, tickling New Granada. The boy laughed and squirmed, trying to pry free but unable to, due to the difference in strength. Spain smiled, malicious, and kept tickling him. "Do you surrender?" he asked when his colony was breathless.

"Never!" New Granada tried to counterattack, but Spain held him too tightly. "You stink! Let go! Fat-ass! Butt-face! You— You're worse than England!"

Spain gasped, offended. "Worse than England? How dare you?!"

"Worse than England AND France combined!"

"Oh, little one, you've just signed your death sentence!" he exclaimed theatrically.

New Granada yelped and somehow managed to break free from his strong hold. Spain, however, didn't lose a second and tried to catch him again. They started to run around the room, one after the other, both of them laughing breathlessly, until a knock on the door interrupted the fun.

Spain finger-combed his hair and straightened his clothes in a (useless) attempt at looking more decent before giving permission to come in.

"I apologize for the interruption, but it's urgent" the soldier that walked in said. He looked shaken and a bit scared. "Admiral Lezo isn't feeling well."

* * *

 ** _Notes:  
_** _(1) That placard was Lezo's last will, and yes, it's on the walls of Cartagena nowadays. It took many (MANY) years to place it, because of reasons that'll be explained on the next chapter._  
 _(2) Actual words said by Vernon and Wentworth, which are very stupid to say, considering they had just had their asses handed to them ._. Crazy Brits. Anyway, that line, "The dons know how to make ships but not men" (back then, Spaniards were often called 'dons' or diegos'), was repeated a lot since the battle of Cartagena, and it was made famous by Admiral Nelson, who said it during the battle of Trafalgar._

* * *

 _AN: it was a very short chapter, I know. Apologies. If I stick to my original plan, there are two chapters left. I'm going to try to write and post them before I start with my finals (otherwise, you're going to be a month without updates).  
As always, reviews are very appreciated! :D_


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: chapter six! Wow, that was fast ._. Idk, I was inspired. It practically wrote itself. Also, I didn't stick to my original plan: this is the last chapter. It was going to be either two short chapters, or a long(er) one, so I chose the second option.  
I hope you enjoy it!  
PS. Yes, in the last chapter, I totally borrowed a line from _Prates of the Caribbean _. Kudos to you if you noticed ;)_

* * *

 **CARTAGENA DE INDIAS, 1841**

Colombia squirmed as she awoke, confused and disoriented at first until she realized where she was. She sighed tiredly and rested her head on the man's shoulder. Considerate, he was walking slow enough to not disturb her sleep (not that it had worked, but it still was thoughtful of him).

"You didn't finish the story," she yawned.

"Well, you fell asleep," New Granada replied.

"I'm awake now."

"It's late. You should sleep."

"Sergio…" she whined.

New Granada rolled his eyes and ignored her until they reached her bedroom. Clumsily, he opened the door and carefully dropped Colombia on her bed. Then, knowing she wouldn't let him go until he was finished, he sat by her side and resumed the story:

"We defeated the English and made them suffer one of the biggest naval defeats to the date. We—"

"You already told me that!"

"I did? Sorry, I wasn't sure at which point you fell asleep."

"The last thing I remember…" she looked to the ceiling, a finger on her lips as she struggled to remember. "The English left and Lezo was victorious, but the stupid Vice—"

"Language!"

"But the not-very-kind Viceroy," she corrected herself, "wasn't too happy."

"No, he wasn't. He still resented Lezo for how he had humiliated him; and do you know what he did to revenge?" He leant towards her, opening his eyes wide and giving his voice a dramatic touch. "He sent a letter to the king in which he said he had been the real hero and saviour of Cartagena, and accused Lezo of doing nothing but writing on his journal."

"No," Colombia gasped, shocked. "And the king believed him?"

"Sadly, he did," he sighed. "Well, to be fair, he was a bit crazy at the time— he used to believe he was a frog. Anyway, he believed Eslava and removed Lezo from his position as Admiral, also refusing the nobility title he had asked as payment for defending Cartagena. Lezo tried to mail him his journal, in which he told all the truth, but the Viceroy wouldn't allow it: he placed a strong censorship that registered every single letter that left the city."(1)

"I can't believe that!" she exclaimed, outraged. "And why didn't Lezo sail back to Spain to defend his honour?"

New Granada smiled sadly at her. He tucked some loose strand of hair behind her ear and simply said:

"Seventh of September, 1741."

"What's that?" she frowned.

"The date of Lezo's death. He died here, in Cartagena, barely a few months after such a glorious victory. The plague took him."(2)

"Noooo!" Colombia's dark eyes opened widely, a sad expression on her face. "That's so unfair!"

"It is," he agreed. "Almost twenty years had to pass until the king Carlos III conceded a nobility title to Lezo's son. Do you remember Carlos? He was the king around the time you were born."

"Not really. But don't change topic! What about Vernon?"

"Ah, yes," New Granada chuckled. "He took his fleet (or what was left of it) to Jamaica, where he remained until he received an order form the Parliament to immediately go to England and report. They were so shocked upon the news of the defeat! And ashamed; so much, they forbid people to talk about it, and melted all the coins they had made."(3)

Colombia giggled and whispered something. New Granada looked suspiciously at her, guessing it had been a bad word but unable to scold her, since he hadn't really heard it.

"This victory ended up being even more harmful for them, since it re-established Spain's control on the Caribbean, which would later be very helpful for the English colonies' independence. You do remember Alfred, yes?" He stopped for a moment, and then muttered, more thinking out loud than talking to the girl: "I've never understood why Spain agreed to help him, knowing that would give us ideas…"

And then Colombia was suddenly serious, and looked much older and mature and she stared at him and asked: "Do you miss him?"

Taken by surprise, he failed to answer for a moment. His gaze got lost somewhere on the floor, and he pondered whether he should answer truthfully or not.

"Sometimes," he finally admitted. There was a heavy silence on the room; for a few seconds, no one spoke. And then New Granada recovered and stood up, energetic. "Okay, enough chat— time to sleep! No protests!" He pushed the pouting girl until she was lying on the bed and quickly tucked her under the covers. "If you have more questions, I'll answer them tomorrow."

"Alright…" she yawned. "Good night."

"Good night," he whispered, kissing her forehead lovingly. "Sweet dreams."

He left the room quietly, and immediately rushed outside. He needed some fresh air.

It had been a century since their crushing victory over England, and when Colombia had seen all the commemorative celebrations, she had started to ask. New Granada knew her well enough to be aware that she wouldn't stop until she got her answers. She was very stubborn, like himself.

It was a trait most of them had inherited from Spain.

New Granada reached the top of the walls and sighed as he leant on them, staring at the nocturne sky. He'd been trying to avoid thinking about his former caretaker for fifteen years, but it wasn't easy. After all, Spain had been there for his entire life; a strong, powerful empire who had played the role of his father-figure for centuries. He used to look up to him as a child, and he remembered feeling proud of being his offspring.

But then had come the 19th Century, and with it the downfall of the man New Granada had thought unbeatable. They weren't even halfway through, and Spain had suffered a crushing defeat in Trafalgar, had been invaded by France, had had a couple of civil wars, had been left in a state of total poverty and political crisis—

—and had had most of his colonies leaving him.

New Granada would never forget the sad and betrayed look in Spain's eyes as he and his siblings had fought him for their freedom.

Sighing tiredly, he let his gaze wander on the horizon. He still remembered clearly the English ships that had appeared behind it, and the months of siege they had suffered; the despair that had overtaken him and Spain's futile attempts at cheering him up.

He still remembered the man that had led them to a victory against all odds, and how unfairly he had passed away, in shame because of a resentful Viceroy.

* * *

 **CARTAGENA DE INDIAS, SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1741**

New Granada knocked on the door and waited anxiously for it to open. It was Josefina who did so, and despite the situation, she greeted him with a kind smile.

"How is he?" he asked as he stepped inside, furrowing his nose at the musty smell.

"He gets worse every day," she answered, her voice shaky. "I've been doing all I could, but it— it doesn't seem to be enough."

They got quiet and didn't say anything else until they reached Lezo's bed, where the Admiral lay down, pale and sweating and on the verge of death.

"Darling, you've got a visitor," Josefina said before leaving them alone.

Lezo groaned and slowly opened his eye, blinking a few times until he got used to the darkness. He then turned his head, his expression softening when he saw New Granada standing by his side.

"Hello," he tried to smile, barely making it. "How are you?"

"I should be the one asking that," the boy replied, feeling his eyes watering. He knelt so that they were eye-to-eye and took Lezo's hand with his. "Do you think you'll get better?"

He only received silence as an answer, and somehow it was more telling than any words the Admiral may have said.

"New Granada," he called him softly, "please don't cry."

Only then he realized there were waterfalls pouring from his eyes. He sniffed and dried his cheeks, but to no avail. The tears kept falling.

"Thank you," he managed to say between sobs. "Thank you for everything. I don't care what Eslava says; I know you're the real hero of Cartagena. I'll never, ever forget you.

"Thank you."

* * *

 **CARTAGENA DE INDIAS, 1841**

New Granada dropped his face in his hands, trying to ignore the wetness on his cheeks. Always the same — even after a century, he still cried when he remembered Blas de Lezo, the man to whom he owed not only the safety of that city, but his own life as well.

He hated how powerless he had been; how he hadn't been able to do anything to help the dying Admiral, neither for his life nor for his honour. Yes, his son Blas had ended up receiving a nobility title, but at what price? The damage had been done, and New Granada couldn't tell how long it'd be until Lezo received the recognition he deserved.

He threw his head back, eyes closed, and took in a deep breath. Yes, he (sometimes) missed Spain, and he couldn't help but mourn over Lezo whenever he remembered him, but he'd be damned if he was going to let it bring him down. After all, he had his little siblings to look after.

He stood there for a few minutes before going back in, to his room. He needed some good sleep.

* * *

 **CARTAGENA DE INDIAS, NOVEMBER 5TH, 2009**

"I can't believe he's late," New Granada mumbled, looking at his watch for the umpteenth time.

"He's _always_ late," Colombia pointed out.

As if staged, a car appeared on the road, going towards the city at a high speed. When the driver spotted them, he drove to their side, skidded and stopped right next to them.

"Hello, my children!" Spain smiled as he got out of the car, a bright smile on his face.

"You're late," New Granada frowned.

"I'm always late," he replied, winking at him. He then proceeded to ignore him as he yelled something like ' _You shouldn't be proud of that!_ ' and went straight to hug Colombia. "Ah, you're prettier every time I see you!"

"And you're stupider every time I see you," she smiled.

"Well, according to half of Europe, that's no longer possible," he laughed. "I have reached the limits of stupidity. And you!" he exclaimed indignantly as he pointed to New Granada. "Will you please stop growing? You're almost as tall as me!"

New Granada wanted to reply that he hadn't grown up in decades, but decided against it. Instead, he grabbed Spain's hand so that he wouldn't run away (who was supposed to be the father-figure?) and motioned for Colombia to follow them.

"Come on, it's about to start, and I don't want to miss it because _someone_ ," he glared at Spain, "has a special talent for being late."

Spain only laughed.

The ceremony wasn't precisely entertaining, yet Spain and New Granada couldn't stop smiling like fools as the placard was uncovered.

 _Tribute to Admiral D. Blas de Lezo y Olavarrieta. This placard has been placed to commemorate the unbeaten admiral who, with his wit, bravery and tenacity, commanded de defence of Cartagena de Indias. Here, he defeated a British armada of 186 ships and 23600 men, plus 4000 recruits from Virginia. An armada even bigger than the Spanish Invincible that the British had sent under the command of Admiral Vernon to conquer the key city and thus impose the English language on all the then Spanish America. Spaniards and Colombians together fulfil today the Admiral's last will, who wanted to place a placard on the walls of Cartagena de Indias that read:  
_ _HERE SPAIN DEFEATED ENGLAND AND HIS COLONIES  
_ _Cartagena de Indias, March of 1741_ (4)

They remained there even when the rest of the public had left, reading the placard over and over.

"Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" Spain said dramatically, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"It is," New Granada played along. "So new and bright…"

"Dorks…" Colombia muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Hey now, if you had been there, you'd understand," Spain stated. Before she could reply, he took a small camera out of his pocket and tossed it at her. "Come on, take a picture of us!"

He grabbed New Granada and dragged him next to the placard. They stood one on each side of it, and shared a quick look before moving in perfect sync and adopting the same pose: left hand covering the left eye, right arm hidden behind the back, left leg folded.

"Okay, done. I took a few." Colombia handed back the camera to Spain, who looked at the photos with a bright smile.

"They're perfect! Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome. What are you going to make with those?"

"He's going to email them to England," New Granada answered instead of Spain, and didn't even have to look to give him the high-five he requested.

* * *

 **LONDON, MARCH 27TH, 2016**

England sighed as he received the report. Really, whose idea had it been to let the Internet name their newest vessel? He couldn't believe the winning name was something as utterly stupid as _Boaty McBoatface_. Thankfully, the poll wasn't over — maybe a decent name could still win! Although he'd rather stick to _Boaty McBoatface_ than _Titanic II_ or _Iceberg? What Iceberg?_

Maybe he could cheat a little… Choose the name he liked the most out of all the suggestions (if there was one) and hire a hacker to make it the winning option. Yes, that would do.

Humming a nameless tune, he turned on his laptop and opened the 'Name Our Ship' page on the Internet. The first one, of course, was still _Boaty McBoatface_. England rolled his eyes, and was about to start scrolling when his eyes locked on the second one.

There, on big white letters and with over 46000 votes, was the name _Blas de Lezo_.

Outraged, England clicked on it to see the reasons given to support the name:

 _Not only was he one of the best sailors of the world, but he also paid some great contribution to the British submarine research_. (5)

He saw red.

And the next thing he was aware of was his laptop being thrown furiously across the room.

* * *

 **FIN**

* * *

 ** _Notes:_** _  
(1) Eslava did place a massive censorship to prevent Lezo from sending his journal to the king. A man who Lezo trusted with his life, Captain Lorenzo Alderete (who I didn't include in the story because I didn't want to overload it with characters), managed to sneak it pass the censors and take it to Spain. However, by the time it reached the king, he had already bought Eslava's story and didn't pay attention to it._  
 _(2) It's not certain which was the cause of Lezo's death: some say the plague, some say that a couple of injuries he received in the battle got infected. I decided to go with the plague because there's something very badass about dying of a disease cause by the vast amounts of enemy corpses rotting outside of the city :)_  
 _(3) In a way, it could be argued that Vernon did beat Lezo in one thing, and that's the recognition he got. Despite his massive defeat (I'll give you numbers later), he didn't lose his rank and remained a well-known a beloved figure. Actually, his grave reads something like "he submitted Cartagena as much as it was possible". Also, the coins were indeed destroyed, but a few survived. There are around 50 left nowadays, if I recall correctly, which are distributed more or les equally between Spain and England._  
 _(4) That's literally what's written on the placard in Cartagena. As you can see, it wasn't placed until 2009— 268 years after the battle! It can be argued that Lezo was forgotten mostly due to the Viceroy's intervention, but it can't be denied that Spain has the bad habit of forgetting its heroes anyway *sigh* Also, 'Blas de Lezo y Olavarrieta' was his full name (we have two surnames in Spain)._  
 _(5) This is one of my favourite things ever— IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED. The suggestion 'Blas de Lezo' was submitted by a guy called Joaquín Andreu, and it was in second place (and still growing) until the British authorities removed it from the poll because it "offended their interests" :'D (As a matter of fact, both the Spanish and Colombian navies had had ships named after Lezo.)_

* * *

 ** _More notes:  
_** _I've stated more than once that this was a crushing defeat. I'm giving you numbers now, so you can see I wasn't lying._  
 _Spain: 800 deaths, 6 ships lost._  
 _England: 6000 deaths, 50 ships lost._  
 _Those are the official numbers; however, some British sources increase the number of English casualties to 18000, half of those because of the battle, another half because of the plague._

* * *

 _AN: and that's it! I hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it :) Thanks a lot to everyone that's left a review, or has simply followed and/or favourited; you're the best! One last review won't kill you ;) Feel free to praise Lezo as much as you want; or you can simply state that Spaniards are incredibly crafty sons-of-bitches (we accept it as part of our charm), because, let's be honest, only us would pull out something like the 'Name Our Ship' thing :P_


	7. Extra

_AN: sooo extra chapter! I was reading a new history book I've recently bought, and it had a chapter about the siege of Cartagena de Indias. At the end, it told this anecdote and I just had to write this. I couldn't not do it. Hope you like it n_n_

* * *

 **2005**

"Hey, Spain," England said as soon as Spain picked up the phone. "How are you?"

"Perfectly fine until you called me and made me hear your stupid voice," Spain replied without missing a beat. "What do you want?"

"Uuuuh, I think spending all that time with Romano isn't good for you. What's with that mouth?"

"Who do you think he learnt all that vocabulary from, bastard? And what the hell do you want?"

"Ah, yes! See, I'm having a naval parade soon, and I was wondering if you'd like to send a ship to join it?"

"A parade?" Spain frowned. "What's the occasion?"

There was a short silence. England coughed.

"It's 2005. What happened two-hundred years ago?"

 _Two-hundred years ago?_ Spain scratched his ear, wondering. Two-hundred years ago was 1805. What happened in— _oh_.

"Trafalgar, huh?" he grunted. "Why exactly would I want to send a ship to commemorate that?"

"Well, you were a part of it," England answered. "I've asked France, too, and he said yes."

Spain sighed deeply. He considered it for a while. Then he had a very, _very_ good idea.

"Okay, I'll be there," he said, smirking. "See you, asshole."

And he hung up.

* * *

It was the day of the parade. From the dock, England watched all the ships that were going to participate. It was so beautiful… His mind couldn't help but wander back to those centuries ago, when his navy had so drastically defeated the combined forces of France and Spain. It really had been a day to remember.

"Lord Eyebrows!" someone called from behind him.

Annoyed, he turned to see Spain walking— no, _prancing_ towards him. Why was he so damn happy? Like him, he was wearing his military uniform, with a few (decorative) medals here and there… and he also spotted some sort of gold medallion hanging on his neck.

"What's up?" he greeted, deciding he wasn't going to let Spain ruin what was supposed to be a glorious day.

"Oh, not much," he answered, beaming. "I just wanted to make sure you saw my ship! It's a beautiful, beautiful frigate. She deserves a good place in the parade, eh? Make sure it's seen!"

"Sure, sure," England waved his hand, clearly not interested.

"Wanna come see it? I think you should come see it!"

Without giving him the chance to refuse, Spain grabbed his hand and dragged him all over to where his ship was anchored. Indifferent, England barely looked twice at it.

"Yes, yes, it's very beautiful," he sighed. "Now may I—?" he stopped mid-sentence, having finally gotten a good look at Spain's medallion.

It had been over a quarter of a millennium, but he still remembered clearly the coins he had forged in an overdose of arrogance. He remembered how he had stood before Spain and New Granada, so certain of his victory, and how he had teasingly tossed one of those coins at them.

Of course, the bastard had kept it all those years. Of course, he had turned it into something he could wear. Of course, he was wearing it precisely that day.

"What's with that face, England?" Spain chuckled mischievously. "Are you having bad memories?"

Slowly, very, very slowly, England turned his gaze away from the medallion and directed it to the Spanish ship. He couldn't see its name from where he was, but he had a bad suspicion.

"Yes," Spain grinned. "May I introduce to you my brand-new frigate, _Blas de Lezo_!"

 _Well played, you southern bastard. Well played_ , England thought.

He wasn't going to admit that out loud, of course. Nor was he going to let Spain get away with it that easily.

* * *

"… and then he threw me to the sea," Spain finished with a laugh.

He heard New Granada laughing at the other end of the line.

"Honestly, you deserved it. How would you feel if he showed up in your ports with a ship called _Horatio Nelson_?"

"Nah, I have a much better sense of humour than him," Spain replied, chuckling. "I would only hit him a little. And hey, he was asking for it! How about we make a parade in 2041 to commemorate Lezo and we invite England, huh?"

"We could do that, yes," New Granada sighed. "But how about we start by fulfilling his last will?"

"That's up to you! When you do it, let me know and I'll be there."

"Will you be late?"

"Probably."

"Try not to." He made a pause. "And come visit more often, you idiot."

* * *

 _AN: sometimes I'm amazed by how sons-of-bitches we can be :P  
In Spain there must always be a ship named 'Blas de Lezo'; it's the biggest acknowledgement a sailor can get. The one mentioned here was an F-103 frigate that was fleeted in 2004 and is still active today.  
Also, I know that Spain in Hetalia is the one of the most adorable puppy-like countries there are, but dude do we curse a lot. I kinda like the idea of Romano learning A LOT of vocabulary from Spain, particularly when he was mad at England and/or France :P  
Anyway, hope you liked this extra chapter! One little extra review won't kill you! ;)_


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